


My Loving Monster

by Allswellthatends



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Oral, Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, held captive, or he thinks it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allswellthatends/pseuds/Allswellthatends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olive was living a normal life until she met Jim at the public Library, they fell in love and she gave him everything she had. Their relationship became rocky and then, through her university, she was offered a chance to study abroad. She decided to leave him, something he didn’t like. He reviled to her his true nature and who he really was, which only made escape make more sense to her. After a long time on the run, she thought him dead, shot through the mouth on top of that building. But now she learns that you cant just run from Jim Moriarty, that his love is the most haunting hunger on the face of the planet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are written in Olive's Journal. 
> 
> Story is also on ff under the same name and I'm on tumblr at annneneville.
> 
> Enjoy!

November 4th.

 

 

I remember fondly the day I saw him die.

Not that I actually watched him die or anything, but I was watching the news, they said they had found Richard Brook dead on top of a building, shot through the mouth. Suicide. I remember crying, not out of sadness or loss, but with joy and elation that my horrors were over.

 Richard Brook wasn’t this monster’s name, only an alias that he used often, I had known it was him the second they uttered the name of the other man who died, jumped from a building, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I remember the monster talking about him, when we got towards the end of our relationship; the man oddly fascinated him. But I smile, now in this moment, as I remember being free.

I had been a student at University College London, studying Classics; when I met him, and no I will not say his name, I will not even think it. It was in the library in the center of London. He had wanted to use the book that I was reading, I had declined him and, very sassy like, told him to go find another book in the giant library. I remember, he had only smiled a devilish grin, his eyes darkening… almost turning black. I had gotten up, he stood taller than me by about five inches, but his aura of arrogance made him out to be taller. I remember, feeling his eyes watch me as I walked away from him, and sensing him move with his eyes and follow me. I sat down at a study carrel and tried to ignore him.

 _Have diner with me?_ He had asked with a sly hint of sarcasm. I remember being flattered, I thought he was attractive; I thought he was a quirky sweetheart. 

 _Sure, um, and your name?_ I had tried to be confident; His smile had seemed genuine, very different from the one I had witnessed when I had refused him the book.

He had taken my pen right out of my hand, lingering on my fingertips, and whipped out a business card, his hand glided over the paper smoothly as he painted his number and name… a name I wont say here, not even here on a page. It hurts to think or say. It makes him seem real.

But when that fateful night happened I was a different person, a young woman ready to take on the world with her curiosity. Now I am nothing but a scared, shell of a human being. And I can thank him for that.

We had started to date. He was alluring at first, but he understood me wanting to take it slow, being at the time I was new to the country, just having moved from America and I was a virgin.

I remember his face when I had told him that, when I had told him I had never had a man before. He was surprised, but he had smiled his devilish grin and held me to him as he whispered that I could have him, all of him and only him.

I didn’t even suspect he was being completely honest.

We dated for five months, after two I had given him my virginity… if there is one good thing I can say about him, it’s that he was a beast in the bedroom, an expert at everything and wasn’t shy about it. And for a while there I thought I was falling in love with him. But he didn’t know what love was, he saw love as possession and fear, he wanted me to be his and no one else’s. I was young, so damn young, and I had started to become intimidated by his lust, his need for power. I soon became sick of being called _my pet, Kitten,_ and when he said _you’re mine._ As if I was a doll of his to be toyed with and then set on the shelf until he had need of me again. 

I was given and opportunity that spring to go to Greece for a year to study a newly discovered manuscript with one of my professors. So instead of tying myself to a man in London I decided to break up with him.

I remember walking into his apartment in Westminster and telling him that I was leaving, I remember telling him that we were over and I was going to move on. He tried to tell me he loved me, that I couldn’t leave him, that he wouldn’t _let me._ Fair to say I was terrified. I remember, he grabbed me and threw me against the wall of his apartment, not in the sensual, sexy way he had before, but with force and anger. Right there and then he told me who he really was, what he really did, the horrible nature of his work.

I had shrunk to the floor, away from him and that was the first time I saw him as a monster. His eyes had been black and angry. His fury unleashed, and suddenly in the blink of an eye, he was lifting me from my teary, fetal position and into his arms, back to the kind lover I had known. I remember those arms being strong and protective, I had used to feel safe in them, but at that moment I wanted to push them away, to run away from his minty, polished smell, to never see that face again. I took what chance I could, as he reached down to lift my chin, to kiss me; I punched with all my force into his stomach. Since he didn’t expect such violence he fell, the wind pushed out of him. I remember running for the door, twisting the handle and feeling his iron grip wrap around my wrist. I broke it as I ripped it from his grasp.

My legs had never moved that fast in my life. I ran to the stairs and in the stair well I remember hearing the door clang open as I scurried down the flights, and I had looked up, he smiled down at me. I remember how his eyes took hold of mine; I swear his eyes were tearing up.

  _If it’s a chase you want, my love, it’s a chase you’ll get. But remember. Remember who I am and what it is I do, and think twice about running too far. Because I will find you and drag you back here. You are mine._

I had never wanted to see him again, and a part of me knew that was false hope.


	2. Two Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive goes to Greece and recounts the horrors that follow her there.

November 6th.

I remember, my heart was racing as I ran down the street in the center of London; I hailed a taxi and quickly told the driver to take me home. I remember the rush of nervous adrenaline as I threw much of what I own into a suitcase. I changed and ran out the door to the waiting taxi. I told him the Airport. All of the hectic, horrifying strangers around me caused me to shake with fear, _Any of them could belong to him._ I remember getting on the plane, breathing in the stale air and closing my eyes to oblivion as I flew to Greece.

The month after that was uneventful. I read things on stone and absorbed information from the ancients. It was fun, I smiled and lived in light and sunshine.

Then late May came, and I remember sitting in a little café on the boarder of Athens, a man sat at the table next to me. He seemed vaguely familiar. At the time I wasn’t able to place him in my memory, and, being the fool I was, I thought nothing of it. I let my guard down.

 _Hello, may I sit?_ He had said in a smooth accent, northern English.

 _I guess._ I remember smiling at this stranger. _What is your name, sir?_

 _Sebastian._ He had cooed at me, the faint smell of mint and scotch on his breath. I remember, it had reminded me too much of _him._ I excused myself and had started to walk away, but he had followed silently behind me. _Not to be frank, miss. But I was wondering if… you would have diner with me?_ His hand had rested on my shoulder. I remembered the last time someone had asked me that question. This Sebastian stood taller than him; over six feet, but he had the same darkness around him, the same blackness in his eyes.

 _Not to hurt your feelings, but no, no thank you. Goodbye._ I had been strong for that moment; I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

 _Wait right there, sweetheart._ His hand had wrapped itself around my upper arm. _Did you really think you would just be able to run from him and there would be no follow up? Did you really think that you would just be able to go on with your life here and he wouldn’t want you back?_ I remember the heat from his hand on me, I remember feeling the weak tears start in my eyes.

 _Let go of me._ I said to him with as much menace as I could muster.

 _How cute. The little kitten thinks she can scare me._ He laughed and slammed me against the wall.

 _Don’t call me that, ass-hole._ I had spit at him. His hands had wrapped around my wrists as I had tried to recover from the blow, he pulled them up above my head. 

_Μπορείτε εκεί την αφήσει να πάει,_ voices had called from the other side of the ally he had dragged me into. Two large Greek men marched towards us, I remember, a surge of hope lifting my stomach from the ground.

 _Now, now, boys. I don’t want any trouble._ Sebastian said letting go of one of my wrists and pulling me behind him. I remember my back hurting with a searing pain and I could barely stand, I unwillingly leaned into his back.

 _No, you boy._ One of the Greek men started to say in a heavy accent. _Let the girl go._ The other one said with a bit more confidence in the language.

 _I think you fellows have the wrong idea here._ He said smoothly, but their faces didn’t believe the words that fell so easily from his lips, I had peeked out from under his restraining arm.

αγαπημένος? _Are you, as you say, with this man?_ The fluent one asked bending down slightly to speak to my face. I remember Sebastian’s fingers digging into the flesh of my forearm, a warning.

 _Ναί._ I had said meekly, and with my last but of courage I shook my head, no. The men leapt into action. I was surprised at their gusto, to help a complete stranger without a second thought. One of them took a swing at Sebastian, who dodged it quickly but the attack forced him to let go of my arm so he could go on the defensive. The other man pulled me towards him and pushed me to the opening of the ally.

  _Go! Go now!_ He yelled, waving his arm.

  _If you think you can run from me, you’re in for a rude awakening, dear. You better hope I find you and drag you back so he doesn’t have to. And I will hunt you until he demands me to stop._  

I ran, as fast and far away as I could. But I couldn’t run fast enough, I remember the gunshots. Two rounds which rang through my head, I had to stop then to catch my breath as it sank into my mind that those two men had just died because of me.

            My monster was more terrible than I could ever have imagined.

 


	3. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive recounts her life on the run and she sees the one person she never wanted to lay eyes on again.

November 10th.

Later that night I dragged all of my belongings to a post office in the little town where I was staying. I shoved anything that was of importance to me in a cardboard box, the rest I threw out, save a few essentials. I knew then that I had to go on the run, to preserve my freedom. I knew then that he would never have me, I would not be a slave or a possession. So I sucked in my tears as I piled my valuables into this box, I remember deciding to send it to my aunt, she lived outside of London, and every since my parents died, she is the closest thing I have to a mother.

            _My dear Aunt Kendra,_

_I miss you tons and I love you. That’s how I want to start this confession. I will not be coming home. Not now, and you will not hear from me for a while, I don’t know how long, I’m sorry. How many times can I say that, I’m so sorry. In this box you’ll find everything I hold dear and I ask you to keep it safe until I return, even though I don’t know when that’ll be. I’ve gotten involved in some salty stuff, don’t ask what, don’t do that to yourself. Just know that I’m dealing with it, but I have to go into hiding. I’m still not sure how this happened, but it did and now I must deal with it. Please call school and work for me to tell them I won’t be coming back. I’ll try and write if I can without detection, but I’m quite sure I won’t be able to. So it may be that these are the last words you’ll ever hear from me. I’m sorry for that. You’re the closest thing I have to a mom, so I trust you with this. You’re all I have left. Please, have faith in me and know I’m safe._

_Much love,_

_Olive_

I remember licking the rim of the envelope and sealing it with a kiss. The man at the post office taped my package shut for me and helped me write on it so I got where it needed to go.

I guess I haven’t really introduced myself yet. My name is Olive Carmen; I’m twenty-one years old from Portland, Maine. I’m short, only five feet and three inches; I have blue eyes, black hair and light skin. One thing the monster used to comment on is how he loved my body, the curve of my hip, the way my breasts weren’t too big or too small. I was heavier set, but not overweight. I had curves like the women of old, like the painted naked figures you see in the Louvre. I looked in the mirror next to the door and I flinched. I remember thinking that I looked like I was ten years older than I was. All because of him and his madness. The streets were dark and sinister, but I mustered up my courage and slid into the alleyway between two houses, I found the door the man at the post office had told me about and I walked inside.

 _What can I help you with, girl?_ And old mans voice asked from behind a desk. The room was small, the man was small and grey.

 _I need papers._ I said meekly.

  _Papers? Passports?_ I nodded and he pulled out a box from below his desk. _Stand there, I need your picture._ I remember the heat of the flash on my face and the sound of the printer; he skillfully placed the picture on three passports. And added some stamps to make them seem used. _You seem scared, girl._ His old eyes watched me as I took out my money. I had drained my bank account and not carried all my money on my person.

 _I am._ Was all I could think to say.

 _Running, are you? From whom? Mafia? No, um, government?_ He asked, his wise eyes scanning her face.

 _No, something much worse._ I paid the man and I left. I remember the first time I saw the new names that would become me for the next five months. Francis Claymore from Quebec, Annie Corleone from New York and Suzie Wilson from Vancouver. From there I stepped onto a bus and watched my paradise fly away under the wheels.

I had seen many places after that, always with a different name, never speaking to anyone, I remember never feeling safe, always looking over my shoulder. I stayed in crappy hotels, always in my own room, just incase. I had become very good at reading people, telling if they were watching someone.

 After three months of running around Europe, I had landed in Amsterdam for the week, or weekend, I hadn’t decided yet. I liked the city, even though the red light district was quite shady. My hotel was in a nondescript part of the city, on the outskirts, cash only. After going out to get some takeout one night I walked back into my apartment, I remember flicking on the lights and dropping my food. Glass shattered and my sandwich splayed across the old wood.

 _He_ was there.

 _Hello, love. It’s been a while._ He said with a sharp smile.

  _It has._ I answered, my eyes looking for anyway out of the small room besides the window, due to the reason I was five stories up and had nothing to land on but pavement.

 _I’ve missed you._ He took two long strides while I was still in shock and before I could move he was standing right in front of me, looking down into my eyes. I remember going to push him away, I didn’t want o be that close to him. But his right hand interlocked both of my wrists as I attempted to push him away. He held me to him, all I could smell was mint and scotch and cigar. All I could feel was his warmth. His fingers lightly brushed my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw.

 _Stop. No. Stop._ I said quietly.

 _Why did you run away?_ His voice cracked a little, I remember my shock as I heard it falter, with a deep breath I looked into his eyes. There were slight tears in the corners, his mouth was curved downward, brow furrowed.

 _I love you, and you love me. Why is that difficult for you to grasp?_ He said fiercely, a light of anger showing through the grief.

 _I’m afraid of you… Jim… I can’t love someone I fear… and you see me as a possession. I’m a person… Jim… with wants and needs that are different from your own._ I hadn’t said or even thought his name in almost five months. But there it was Jim Moriarty, Consulting Criminal.

 _I tried to keep you out of it. I did, but you were going to leave me. And it’s a dangerous world out here, I couldn’t have you running around with no protection. I have enemies, even whole governments who want my head. It’s not safe if they were to discover I had a sweetheart running around. Please, understand this, Olive. I want you with me so you don’t get killed. And I love you… I truly do, darling. You couldn’t leave me. I just couldn’t have that, love._ His hand had cupped my face; his thumb drawing circles on my cheek.

 _Come home._ He whispered in my ear. I remember for a moment, I almost said yes…

But then I realized _No. No, Jim. Because with you is not home, I wouldn’t be your girlfriend, I would be your prisoner. Your slave. Especially because my family thinks I’m safe…_ Wait a minute. _You know I told them that. I know you, you intercepted that letter didn’t you?_

He pulled away from me and nodded, a tell tale smile on his lips. _Of course I did, love. I even took a little something from that heartwarming package of yours._ He dangled my grandmothers locket in front of me.  

 _Then you know my family isn’t looking for me, they won’t. Ah, shit. I’m such and idiot. You wanted me to write something like that. Just so you could keep me like the fucking Phantom of the Opera. No, Jim. No._ And with that I tried to pull from him but he held me there with just his one hand.

_You played right into the trap, darling. But I’m enjoying this chase… ah… it does pain me to see you so frightened all the time, always looking over your shoulder. But Moran is doing his job. Oh, yes. If I had wanted you back in London, you’d be back by now._

I had started to shake; I remember that, my whole body had started to shiver. _Moran, ah, yes you’ve met him, back in Greece. He has been right on your heels ever since, Annie, Suzie, Francis. I could of given him the word anytime and you would have been shackled to my bedpost._

I shook my head, and fought his grip. _You’re lying._ Was all I could say to him, and it didn’t come off as very strong either.

  _No, darling. You’ve been lying to yourself if you ever thought you’d gotten away from me. This is love, dear._ His hand glided under my chin and brought my lips to his, the kiss was hungry, and he was hungry. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth and explored it thoroughly. My eyes stayed open as I watching him, tears drizzled down from the corners of my eyes.

 _Ah, I’ve missed that._ He whispered in my ear when he had finally finished. _But now, down to business. I’m working on something right now, something big and I don’t want you getting involved or even in London for it. So I believe I’m going to just leave you here or there. I’ll let you wander for a bit longer._ I watched him, utterly terrified. _And when it’s all done and good I’ll come myself and retrieve you. How does that sound, love?_ He kissed me again, right at the corner of my mouth.

 _You will never see me again._ I hissed lowly.

 _Ah, I beg to differ._ He let go of me, my wrists felt bruised. I remember leaning up against the wall and rubbing them, he walked over and tenderly took my hand; his fingertips brushed the bruised skin. I remember watching his face twist and think; his eyes wandered lost in some incoherent thought.

 _You know, darling. I take back what I said._ He smiled at me.

 _What do you mean?_ I tried my hardest to melt into the wall but it didn’t work.

 _I can’t live another day without you, so you’re coming home now._ His hand wrapped around my throat as quick as a snake. It wasn’t a hard grip, just to keep me in place. _Sebastian!_ He called and Moran ran into the room. He had a needle in his hand, some sort of antithetic I guessed. _Don’t worry, Olive, love. You’ll wake up tomorrow in our bed as if nothing had happened._ He kissed my neck; I even felt a little teeth as he tasted my skin.

 _No, no, no, Jim. Don’t, please._ I begged.

  _Don’t fret, dear._ I saw Moran come up behind him and he had the syringe ready. Jim moved out of the way, leaving me leaning against the wall. And before either could react I bolted for the window, thinking I would rather die.

Luckily I didn’t die, that would be bad. I instead had enough thought to grab the buildings drainpipe and hang on for dear life in the brisk Dutch air. Jim’s head darted out the window.

 _Come on, Olive. Are you really going to be this difficult?_ I smiled, for once, I was the one smiling.

 _When haven’t I been difficult?_ I retort sarcastically.I shimmied down the drain and took two leaps before hopping onto a moving boat in the cities canals. I watched as Jim and Sebastian glared at me from a bridge.

 _As soon as I’m done with Holmes, I’ll find you. And you’ll be mine._ He yelled across the dark water.

I remember scoffing at him, thinking _Yeah right,_ but now I can rest easy. Seeing that he’s dead.

            It’s been a month since I came home to London, I moved into a small studio flat and I’ve been working at a library. I think about going back to school, but I’m still just trying to adjust to life after Moriarty. I waited a month before coming home, Aunt Kendra was elated to see me, she had been so worried. I told her what I could and left out other things for her own good.

 Now that he’s dead I feel more at ease, but a part of me is a bit apprehensive to think he would commit suicide, he was way to self-riotous for that. I still check behind me when I walk down the street, I still feel eyes on me and flinch at the slightest touch. Old habits die hard, I guess.

 My life is slowly being put back together, as any trauma victim would tell you; it takes a while for anything to be normal. I’m just waiting for things to be normal again. Which is more difficult than you could ever imagine.

So, here I write.

This is my story of dealing with Jim Moriarty. And to be clear, I did love him at one point; at least I think I did. I truly thought he was good man. But monsters are experts at hiding who they really are.

I’m able to move on.


	4. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present Day. 
> 
> Olive starts to move on from the horror's of Jim Moriarty.

_(Present Day)_

            “Okay, stop!” I laugh as Seth tickles my side. My voice echoes through the room, his joins it in a harmony of laughter.

            “Only if you say please, eh?” He reaches for me again. I dodge and smile, twisting from tickling distance. Seth’s heavy Scottish accent is nice to listen to, very fresh compared to every other Englishman in London.

            “Oh, fine. Please stop?” I give him my sweet face, my innocent face. He grins wide and lets out a broad laugh. Working in the library I meet a good many people, but he was the first to make an impression.

            “So, when are we going out? Zane and I want to take you out, so find a guy and give us a date.” He huffs as he crashes into a big comfy chair.

            The color drains from my face, I can feel the redness leave me. It’s been four months, four very long months. “Look, I’d love to go out with you losers, but…”

            “But, what?” He sits up and looks at me, studying my face. “Ollie, you’ve been so secretive. Do you not like guys? Cause that’s cool, even though us gays don’t really hang out with lesbians.” He breaks out laughing at his own joke.

            “Very funny, no. I’m strait, I like guys.” I twist my hands together, not sure if I should tell him anything. “I’ve just had a bad experience, that’s all.”

            His eyes prod mine. “Did someone hurt you?”

            “You could say that.”

            “You know you can talk to me, right?” He gets up and walks over to me, wrapping me up in his arms. “Me, Zane, we’re here for you, Olive.” I feel him kiss the top of my head.

            “Maybe one day, but not today. Okay?” I smile at him, shyly. He smiles back, but it’s a bit forced.

            “Not today.” He nods.

 

            I look around the bar; there aren’t many people here. I had mustered up the courage to go out for the first time and so far it is a major failure. I empty the drink in front of me, a simple dirty martini, and make for the door. Dinner had been fun; Seth and Zane had taken me to this trendy little place in Chelsea and we had come to this bar near my flat after, only about ten minutes ago they had decided to head home.

            What was that? Out of the corner of my eye I spot a familiar shape. Tall and impressive, with cropped hair and a dark aura. _Moran_ I think sourly, my eyes search for him again, looking for him in the crowd and finding nothing. _But why would he still be after me?_ I ask myself. _Jim is dead. Dead and not coming back to make me his whore._ My heart is speeding, my hands are shaking, I walk slowly to not draw attention to myself. Outside I hail a taxi and quickly jump in, the ride is rocky, every bump sending me into a minor panic. When the driver pulls up in front of my flat I smile and hand him his money. It had started raining and I run silently up the two flights of stairs and into my little flat.

            Something wasn’t right. I walk around the room touching things, here and there; little things aren’t where I left them. The papers on my desk had been rustled through, my books had been touched and even my sheets seemed as if someone had laid in them. _Could it have been?_ I think, the pit of my stomach dropping. _No, he’s dead._ I tell my self over and over, repeating it. _Dead. Dead. Dead._ But someone had defiantly been in my flat, I could call the police, but nothing was missing. I walk over to my bedroom and rip off the sheets, roll them into a ball and throw them into the corner. I skip to my closet and pull out my winter flannels, I pull them over my mattress, strip off my wet dress, throw on a Doctor Who tee shirt and lie down on them. I fall asleep there, curled up in the fetal position on my bare bed, in nothing but my tee shirt and underwear, the moonlight beaming over me and reflecting off my paleness. 


	5. A Doctor's Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive goes to meet someone, the only other person on the planet who would understand.

I wake up to the sunshine, it’s the weekend and the sun is bright over my flat. Nothing else seems out of place, the paranoia from last night fades away like a bad dream. I shower slowly, scrubbing off any worry. My closet is organized; I pick a pair of black jeans, which trail up above my belly button, and a collared blouse.

            I stroll over to my desk and pick up the small piece of paper that I had written his address on. It read _Dr. John Watson, 221 B Baker St._ The partner of the late Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the only other person in the world who might know who Moriarty was. And that he was real. The news had tried to play it off that he was an actor named Richard Brook, hired by Mr. Holmes. But I knew better, I knew the monster better than anyone, and hopefully Dr. Watson did too, because he’s my only hope of ever being able to talk to someone about this without sounding insane.

            I catch the tube; it’s a busy day, people on their way to the park to be in the sunshine before the English winter comes. I keep to myself, listening to my music and reading a classic favorite of mine _Paradise Lost_ amidst the bustling crowds. The street is very nondescript, a normal London lane. I walk slowly up to the door of 221 Baker St. and my hand shakes a bit as I lift it to ring the doorbell. It chimes through the house; I listen to the echo and wait for the sound of footsteps. Nothing. I’m about to push it again and the door opens urgently.

            “Hello, can I help you?” An elderly woman asks, no smile visible.

            “Is Mr… Oh, I mean Dr. Watson, here?” I look at her apprehensively, not quite sure what to expect.

            “Look we don’t want any more press, there’s been to much.” She’s about to close the door when I stop it.

            “I’m not press. I’m here to talk to Dr. Watson about something I think only he will understand. It’s a peculiar topic, a man who everyone thinks never existed…”

            “Moriarty.” A mans voice says from the stairs, I look up to see a short, blonde man staring at me. “Please, come in.” He motions for me to follow him up the stairs. The older lady rolls her eyes and walks back into her flat.

            “You know he’s real?” I ask as I follow him up the stairs and into a flat.

            “Oh, yes. I’ve met him.” He goes over to the little kitchen and pours me a cup of tea, earl grey by the smell. “What’s your name?”

            “Olive.” I answer as he hands me the warm mug. It smells like heaven, theres just something about the way the English brew tea.

            “And what do you need to know about Moriarty?” He offers me a seat and then sits down himself in a black leather arm chair.

            “It’s not what I need to know, Dr. Watson. It’s what I can tell you.” He looks at me confused. “I saw you on the news, after they showed that Moriarty was dead… I am sorry about your friend… And I thought you were the only person I could talk to about this without sounding insane.” I’m mumbling and I stop talking, why would this man who seems to be going through his own deal of troubles care about my troubles. “Never mind, I should just go… I shouldn’t have come… you seem to be going through a lot and…” I stand up.

            “Wait, no. Sit.” He motions for me to sit back down. “You knew Moriarty?” His eyes are full of wonder and curiosity.

            “You could say that.” I start, but a lump gets caught in my throat and I don’t know if I can tell him the rest of the story. And then I remember, I brought the journal I had written only a month after everything had ended.

            “How?” He sips his tea and looks at me intently.

            “We were together.” I force myself to say, my eyes looking down at my tea. I look up to see a surprised look on Dr. Watson’s face.

            “Oh, so you did know him quite well.” He fiddles with his tea cup.

            “I tried to leave him.” Now that got the Doctor’s attention. “I wanted to move on, and he told me what he did… the consulting. But I still tried to leave him. And for half a year he chased me across Europe.” My breathing is deep and heavy. I’m terrified just talking about it.

            “And why are you telling me this?” He asks, not rudely, just in awe.

            “Because you knew him, and you wouldn’t call me insane.” I say honestly.

            “He took my best friend from me in a sick twisted game.” Dr. Watson’s face turns down into a frown.

            “Dr. Watson…”

            “Call me John.”

            “John, at least we can take comfort in the fact that Jim is dead.” I reach out a hand and place it on his. He oddly reminds me of my father, strong, most likely military, and kind hearted.

            “So tell me what happened.” I didn’t say a word, all I can do is reach my hand into my bag and pull out the journal. I hand it to him slowly. “It’s hard to say, so I wrote it down.”

            “May I?” He opens the moleskin carefully to my messy cursive scrawl.

            “Yes, and do you mind if I help myself to more tea?”

            “Not at all…” I loose John then, he becomes absorbed in my story. I sit around and look at things in the flat, a scull on the mantle, papers surround a laptop on a table near the windows. A smiley face is lighting up the room from the wall above the sofa. It’s brushed on with yellow spray paint, an odd choice for flat decoration. _There must be a story behind that,_ I think smiling.

 I think about the lives that resided here, Mr. Holmes and all his expertise, all the lives he saved, the crimes he’d stopped. It makes my heart swell with melancholy to think that he’s dead and that’s over, all because of my monster and his vicious game. I had read up on him, his blog and Johns. Learned a lot, like how many different kinds of tobacco ash there were in the world, among other things I didn’t need to know or care about. I memorized each and everyone of their case studies, visited the sites where they happened, attempted to weave the game together from case to case and figure which ones Moriarty was involved in. I’d even met with a woman from the Hospital, one Molly Hooper. She had told me she’d dated a Jim, and I’d laughed right in her face, saying _you’re so lucky you dodged that bullet, dear,_ and walking out. I grin at the memory, and feel a swell of embarrassment. I shouldn’t have been that rude, I should go and apologize, maybe she’d understand if John doesn’t. My attention is pulls from my memories as John speaks up.

            “Wow, you’ve had quite the year.” He flips back a few pages to reread something. “It doesn’t seem real.”

            “I was quite real. And quite horrifying.” I say looking at the ceiling.

            “Thank god that man is dead.”

            “I thank god everyday… but sometimes I wonder…”

            “What?” He asks uneasily.

            “That Jim faked it, that he’s still out there. And he’s just playing with me.” I pull my knees up to my chin; I’m bizarrely comfortable in this strange place.

            “You can’t come back from putting a bullet through your mouth.” John states definitely, setting the book on the table next to him and situating his hands over his face.

            “He could.”


	6. The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone shows up.

Walking home from the tube leaves me uneasy. I feel like someone’s watching me. That they’re just hiding in the shadows, right out of view. There are people around, it’s only half past nine, early for a Saturday night. I walk briskly through the throng of people and make it safely to my building. The climb up my two flights is more tedious than usual. I had left the journal with John, he told me to call if I wanted to talk again. My bag felt lighter than I was comfortable with. But I drop it as soon as I step into my flat, I flick the lights on and once again I notice that someone’s been here, they left an empty water glass on the counter and sat in my chair. The apartment is quiet, too quiet. I move slowly into my bedroom, and look in the bathroom, the closet and even in the shower. Nothing. I sit down on my bed, and a familiar sent wafts up from the sheets. Mint, scotch and cigar. _Oh no, god no._ I pray to whatever I can. Suddenly I feel him in the room, my room, I feel his presence like an old bruise, just behind me and to the right.

            “You’re dead.” I whisper, tears starting to fall down my cheeks.

            “Being dead is so boring.” His velvet, Irish voice falls across my ears like saltwater waves, leaving a sting in their wake.  “I found it much more enticing to come back for you, just like I promised.”

            “No. I thought you were dead… I would have never come back… if I had known…” I’m sobbing, my chest is heaving in and out and my breath is shallow. I can’t breath.

            I feel his touch too soon, his fingers rest on my shoulders and move down my arms, until they encircle me. I’m trapped in him. “Sh, darling. Now we can finally put all this ugly behind us and start anew. We can be happy.” His arms tug me closer to him, I can feel his breathing against me.

            “No, no, no, Jim I don’t… please.” I gasp, almost incoherent.

            “No more words, love.” He lets go and stands up, his phone is out of his pocket quickly and silently he dials. “Moran, come up now.” He hangs up and walks over to me, he kneels in front of me, his face becoming level with mine.

            “Why?” I murmur, the tears are searing down my face and my whole body shakes.

            “Because I love you.” He leans in and kisses my forehead, softly, it’s almost kind. “See you at home, darling.” I close my eyes to stop the flow of water, and as I open them I realize that he’s gone. My breath comes rushing out in gasps. I can’t even comprehend that he found me, he’s alive and I’m done. I’m caught.

            “Olive?” The voice brings back bad memories, and two gunshots ring through my head. “Are you ready?”

            “Don’t I get to pack or something?” My voice breaks on almost every word.

            “We’re sending people over to retrieve your things later tonight.” I sense a hint of pity in his voice. “Now, please come with me.”

            I stand up, my legs shaking from so much fear. I have no idea what awaits me at Jims apartment, or if that’s where I’m even going. “Sebastian… you don’t have to…” I start to tell him, but he just raises a hand, offering it to me. I take his hand, it’s so big that it wraps itself around mine, encompassing the whole of my fingers. He pulls me towards him, my legs stumble a bit and I feel his arm twine its way around my waist. I see a flash of a syringe and feel a prick in my neck. The world spins around me, and I fall into his chest as blackness overtakes me. 


	7. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive wakes up in an interesting place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING THIS IS WHERE THE RAPE STARTS.
> 
> SO BEWARE.

I wake up in a daze; the room around me is unfamiliar. I’m lying on an ornate bed, still in my clothes from earlier. My feet find the floor, and I stand with little balance, whatever they gave me has a bit of an after effect. I can’t really see strait, my head is aching and I can’t feel my fingers. My legs move towards the exit, it’s a double door and the room is what I’m guessing to be the master bedroom in one of Jim’s flats.  

            I try to twist the door handle, it’s locked, what did I even expect?  I put my ear up to the polished, black wood. I listen to the voices on the other side, they’re muddled and I can’t make out what they’re saying. I back up as I hear footsteps walking towards the door. The light outside, or lack there of, shows that it’s late. I cross my arms over my stomach, hugging myself, not knowing what to expect.

            Jim waltzes through the door, and shuts it smoothly behind him. His jacket’s unbuttoned and his tie’s askew, his fingers move up to his neck gracefully as he works it off. “Evening, darling.” He sings nonchalantly, as if it were any night.

            “Where am I?” I ask quietly, he is in control of the situation and I don’t want to anger him. I remember what he can be when he gets angry.

            “At one of my flats.” He sits in a leather club chair next to the fireplace. He takes off his shoes, then his socks and he leaves his jacket on the back of the chair. “Do not worry, it’s a very nice place. My personal favorite, and this is where Moran lives.” He strolls over to where I’m standing, a part of me starts to retreat, but I know there’s nowhere to go, not in his own home. “Now, dear. I want to ask you something.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him.

            “What?” My voice is barely audible I’m so terrified.

            “We haven’t known each other in a while… would you like to make love?” His eyes burn into mine as he waits for his answer. I watch his brow furrow as I hesitate to answer, his eyes shine with need and hunger, unlike I’ve ever seen in him before.

            “No. No, I don’t want you.” I say quickly as I use my feeble courage to back away from him.

            “Well that will change. But not tonight… You know, darling, I do know every part of you. I know just what to do to make you tick. And I swear to you,” He smiles, a genuine smile, his lips open and suck in air, as if he’s preparing himself. “That I will not force myself upon you. We will not make love again until you permit it.”

            I’m surprised. Extremely surprised, I’m not expecting that, to be completely honest I was expecting to be raped tonight.

            “But… we can do other things, lets say, remind you of why you love me so much.” He steps towards me, and with each step of his I back up. Soon my back finds the wall and he closes the gap between us with quick ease. Even though he isn’t very tall, he seems to tower over me. “Now, let me see you.” He says into my ear, biting at the lobe lightly. His fingers move to my blouse and start to unbutton it, tears are forming in my eyes, sobs starting in my chest as he takes the shirt off. I have no where to go, but for a moment I think of making a sprint for the door, maybe he’ll just get annoyed and not continue. “I’ll catch you before you make it a step.” He whispers, following my line of sight.

            “Jim… please… don’t, I can’t.” I sob out in gasps; he reaches up and brushes my hair out of my face. His fingertips wipe away the tears running down my face, and trace my cheek until they reach my lips. He removes his hand for a second and expertly unbuttons his own shirt, revealing a toned stomach. I feel exposed and cold in my bra and jeans. My lace bra is thin and the tips of my nipples can be seen through the light pink design.

            “You are so beautiful, darling.” He says softly as he closes in on my lips, I try not to kiss back, but his hands now press me up against the wall, one tangles in my hair, the other weaves around my waist as he lifts me up. I feel myself start to kiss him back; it’s so familiar and almost… comfortable.

He grabs the soft flesh of my ass and runs his hand down to my thigh, lifting my leg up to wrap around his waist. I struggle against it, but he manages to get both legs up and around him. He presses his warm chest into my stomach, letting my mouth free as he kisses down my neck.

 Tears still run down my cheek as his lips find my collarbone, I feel teeth and the arousing pain as he bites down on my skin. He marks me, nibbling at my flesh, creating craters of teeth that I know will trail down my neck as bruised constellations tomorrow. A slight moan escapes my lips as my body relaxes a little into him. I open my eyes to find him staring at me; he lets down my legs carefully and starts to unbutton my pants, his thumbs hooking in the belt loops as he yanks them down slightly.

            “You said…” His finger cuts me off on my lips.

            “And I keep my word. But there are other things we can do.” A devilish grin washes across his lips, but his eyes are cold, causing a shiver to run down my spine. He continues to undo my pants, my hands awkwardly go to stop him, but he brushes them away. His strong fingers push my trousers down and lift up each of my feet so he can discard of them across the room. Now all that stands between Jim Moriarty and me are a thin lace bra and thin lace underwear.

            Before I can react he is back at his previous game. He pulls my legs up and around him, he tangles both hands in my hair after they wrap around my waist. His lips hunger at mine, crashing against them in a furious battle of flesh and teeth, his tongue forcing it’s way into my mouth tasting like mint it tickles my senses. Forcefully pushing around, and expertly weaving through my own, his lips move against me, and for a good long while, as he strokes my back and toys with the clasp of my bra.

I feel his hardness through his pants, against my inner thigh and can’t help the wetness becoming apparent through my underwear. Disconnecting himself from my mouth he kisses down my neck and once again bites me, hard. I let out an involuntary moan through the pain and sensuality of the moment. 

            Suddenly the wall has left me, one arm stays around my waist as his other untangles from my hips and scoops under my ass, effectively lifting me into his hold for a split moment before he drops me on the indulgent bed.

            “Now, love. I’m going to remind you why you love me.” He whispers, his eyes warming as the drink me in. I try to pull away, I try to move my legs, scurrying on the sheets. But he simply grabs my ankle and pulls me back below him. He lies on top of me, pressing against me; I can barely breath due to his weight.

 His legs move to either side of me and he sits up. His one hand gathers my wrists; I pull against him as I cry out, a shrill, painful yelp, not wanting him to touch me any more. He ignores my tears and collects them above my head using his iron grip and the other hand snakes behind my back to unhook my bra. I feel him ease the pressure on my wrists as he slips of the thin piece of fabric and throws it across the room. His eyes take me in, not too big nor to small, they fit perfectly in his hand. I watch him, completely helpless, as his free hand descends on my right breast. I gasp as I feel the pressure; he kneads the soft flesh and flicks the raised bud and then moves to the left. As his hand works on the left breast his mouth attacks my right. I’m writhing in pleasure and pain, I feel a mix of right and wrong, of want and hate and yet there is nothing I can do to stop it. Jim knows exactly how to flick his tongue to make me scream; he licks the pert bud in just the way that makes my body spasm and rise up to press against him.

            His mouth finishes with my breast and he kisses his way up to my mouth once again exploring with excitement, his teeth close around my bottom lip and he tugs as me, wanting me to return some of the passion. I feel his frustration as I refuse to return the kiss, it just makes him smash his mouth and body into mine with a terrible force.

 He soon starts to kiss down my chin, and my neck, I feel him move down through my breasts, leaving a kiss on each hard nipple and down my stomach. I feel my core lurch; a heat grows in my belly..

            He kisses down my leg and into my inner thigh, moving his body so he kneels on the floor; he pulls my weak form to the side of the bed, yanking my legs so they hang over the edge. His warm fingers trace outlines on the soft skin and I feel the heat spread through my freckles like electricity, a feeling I was all too familiar with. I start to pull back, trying to move away. But his hands grab my ankles, holding me in place. After he’s sure I won’t attempt another escape The fingers dance up to my underwear, hook underneath the sides and pull them off in one fell swoop.

            “You’re so wet already, dear.” The tip of his finger barely touches my folds; he raises it slowly and kisses it, sucking on it for a second. And with that his kisses move up into my core, I feel his tongue lap at my wetness and dive inside of me for a moment before he finds my nub.

I scream out in pleasure as he circles it and flicks it, sending bolts of pleasure through my body. I feel my heat rising, I just ache for release, but he won’t have that, not until he’s ready. “Such a good girl.” He moans into me, the vibration of his voice almost sending me over the edge. His fingers begin work around my opening, one slides it, I whimper, he slips in another, I moan, my head heaving back in pure ecstasy. And he pushes in a third, and starts pumping as his thumb rubs my clit in circles. His mouth finds my breast and his other hand kneads the one not attended by his satanic lips. I cry out, my core rising as I feel him go in and out and in. I feel it coming. My inner walls contract around his fingers and he pulls them out, leaving me empty and lost.

            “Jim…” I whimper, tying my best not to sound desperate.

            “I know, my love. I know.” His lips leave my nipple and he once again kisses down and to my clit, his teeth squeeze the swollen nub and I yelp in desire His fingers pound into me and rush in and out as he sucks my pleasure. I feel the heat rising, the need for release building in a rushing fire around me. A part of me tells me to stop, that this isn’t right. But another falls into the pleasure and closeness that I hadn’t had in much too long.

            The heat blisters my insides, I buck upwards, meeting his fingers and shoving him deeper inside me. His devilish tongue flicks at my clit a few times as his fingers curl in just the right way, sending me into an intense euphoria, I slam my eyes shut and scream out as the orgasm rolls through me, curling my toes and lifting my chest.

            “And that is love.” Jim whispers in my ear, he pulls his fingers from inside me and licks them his other hand brushes away my sweaty hair. His lips place a soft kiss on mine and he lifts me gently, pulls the covers back on silk sheets and climbs into bed with me, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me into him.

            Between the drugs and the pleasure I fall asleep easily, even in the arms of a monster.  


	8. Cold Water

I wake up to a breeze.

            There’s a door open on the big wall of windows, it lets the sunlight seep through from a center courtyard. I fling off the sheets, the bed is still warm, but he’s nowhere to be found. The door is open to let air in and I inhale deeply the smell of roses and lilacs. Sleek is the only way to describe the room, fancy silver and black striped wallpaper covers every wall, and a plush black carpet hides dark wood floors. There’s a fireplace on the wall across from the bed, in front of it are two large club chairs, both black leather. The room is long and narrow, but two doors lead off it, a bathroom and closet, I guess. I walk outside into the fresh air, I am on the top floor of the building, about ten stories up. My window seems to be the only one open, all the rest are covered with fabric or shuttered. Good thing too, cause I realize that I’m still nude. I rush back inside and look around, my clothes had been picked up, there was nothing on the floor.

            “Looking for something?” A voice asks me from the club chairs, I turn instantly, my hands flying to cover myself. Moran sits there nonchalantly, reading a newspaper. A table has been set up with a full breakfast on it, even a little daisy in a vase.

            “Do you mind?” I say harshly, struggling to cover my bare body.

            “What?” He smiles, his eyes never leaving my face. “Oh, yes. That. The water closets over there, clothes are off it. I’ll be here.” His head motions for me to go. I don’t argue a shower would be a blessing. I scurry over quickly, tripping over my own feet in my hurry to get out of his sight. I open the door and slide inside, slick black tile covers every inch of the room, taking it in I walk slowly over to the shower. My favorite bath products line the shower wall, lavender shampoo and conditioner, honey body wash and a loofa. I turn on the water and let the ice run over my bruised back, the cold feels good it gives me strength and I try to let it seep into my skin, let it turn my heart to stone so I can bare whatever awaits me. I wash my hair carefully and scrub my skin raw, trying to remove any reminisce of his touch. The sent in the shower clams me, it smells like home and for a moment I imagine I am back in my flat washing in my old claw foot tub with the daisy shower curtain. The illusion is easily shattered as I open my eyes to black tile the surrounds me like a black hole. I let my soul escape my mind, I let the coolness of the room and water turn me to stone.

            I get out of the shower languidly, being careful not to slip of the tile. An arch leads to a large dressing room; I search through it to find any clothes for me. All I can find are fancy bras and underwear; just proving Jim has no respect for me. I put on the least extravagant ones and throw on one of his button up shirts. This should be cute, right? A girl in her boyfriends work shirt? But it’s not it just feels wrong.

I walk out and into the bedroom, Moran is still sitting in the club chair, the breakfast is untouched.

“Nice shower?” He asks innocently, his attention still in the paper.

“Nice, enough.” I say quietly, I sit in the other chair and take an orange slice off the tray. It tastes incredible, but turns to ash on my tongue. I don’t touch anything else, my stomach turns in knots as I look at Moran. _Why are you here?_ I ask in my mind.

“Tea?” He offers not waiting for a response, his hand moves to the teapot balanced on the tray, he elegantly pours a steaming cup for me and refills his own. _Earl grey._ I think, remembering… could that really only have been two das ago?

“That’ll be nice.” I say quietly, taking the cup and letting it warm my hands, still cold from the shower.

“You’re cold.” He observes, looking me up and down, his eyes curious.

“That happens after cold showers.” My voice sound harsh, I have no patience for his small talk.

“You shouldn’t do this to yourself.” He says reaching for a piece of pineapple.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I say sarcastically, my eyes roll slightly as I lift my fingers to my lips to bite my nails. His hand catches my wrist and pulls me towards him.

“You need to let yourself be happy or you will wither away to nothing.” He looks at me intensely; his eyes are a dark green and have a warmth to them, much different from the coldness of Jim.

“Then let me.” I whisper.

“Not in my job description.” He laughs and lets go of my hand. Moran stands languidly, much like a jaguar, long and tall and dark. I watch him warily, not trusting his movements. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast, the telly had paperview and Netflix so feel free. There are books in the den, through that door.” He points to the one I assumed was a closet. “If you need anything just holler, we can get you anything.” A smile plays at his lips.

“Hey.” I yell as he walks towards the door. Moran turns and gives me an expectant look. “One taxi to Istanbul.”

“Anything, but that, sweetheart.” The door shuts behind him and I hear the tell tale click as the door locks. 


	9. The Leather Chair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short oops sorry

My feet move quietly as I walk into the other room, it’s not black and sleek like the bedroom, but brown and cozy with books lining the walls and framing a fireplace adorned with an ancient mantle. Oriental rugs cover the floor, overlapping and soft, like different sands piling together and a large leather chair hugs the corner of a matching couch. My eyes scan the scene, it seems lived in, like Moran sits in that chair every night and reads a first edition from the shelves. The room smells slightly of cigar, but the overwhelming sent is apples. Like someone baked a pie and set it out to cool. I step onto the smooth carpets and walk tentatively over to the chair, light plays on the weathered material from the windows behind it. The panels are heavily curtained, but pulled back to let the sunshine in. I look out into the skyline of London, its my portal into the world and I cherish every second of it’s beauty.

I grab one of the large, velvety blankets and pull it around me. The rooms are strangely cool, and my skin Goosebumps in the brisk air. I curl into the ancient chair, my body relaxes at the touch of the familiar leather and my fingers find the clicker on the small table that sits in between the two pieces of furniture. The large Van Gough painting above the fireplace rolls into its frame revealing a crisp television.  I throw on some music from Pandora and force myself up to find a book, my eyes start to scan the shelf on the far wall, but something catches them, on the small table is a withered copy of _Paradise Lost_ , my copy. I turn quickly and search the rest of the library, finding my volumes scattered throughout. It feels like a huge invasion of privacy, almost bigger than anything he’s done yet. I’m a nerd, so I write in the margins of my books, little notes and thoughts that pop into my head as I read. They’re very private and I can’t describe how infuriating it is to see that he’s been through my books, which is equivalent to reading through my inner most thoughts.

Rage fills my senses at his, what he would seem as harmless, act of invasion. He can have my body, he can have my freedom, he can have my voice and my speech. But he cannot have my soul. 


	10. Stone Counters

The room suddenly feels stark and uninviting and I leave stomping angrily into the bedroom. As the breeze rushes over my face I breath in hungrily, trying to think of someway to repay the devil for his sins. My thoughts fly to his pristine appearance and the large dressing room I had explored earlier. I waltz through the bathroom and into the closet. It smells clean, too clean and well pressed. Walls of doors house what I guess are his jackets, drawers his socks and underwear, shelves for his pants and shirts.

“You sick bastard. OCD are you?” I ask the empty air, my fingers awkwardly touching the soft fabric of his dress shirts. I lift one and throw it across the room, I toss another and another until the shelf is clean. The pants are thicker material, woven and herringbone, all colors in the grey scale. I chuck them on the floor, and I notice a few moments later that I’m screaming, loud cries of pain and frustration. My nails rip at a few pairs of pants, barely able to wrench through the thick fabric. I empty the drawers and heave the wooden frames against the floorboards. Wood cracks on wood and I relish in the sound of something breaking besides me. As the broken drawers settle and the room becomes silent I walk over to the doors covering the pressed suit coats. My hands run over the skillfully crafted clothes carefully, I’m enjoying this release of rage and brutality.

Screams rip at my throat as I destroy everything around me in utter frustration. My senses heighten and dull at the same time as the world around me becomes a red, hot mess of heat and pain. I feel the pain of everything happening on my shoulders. It seeps into me and reverberates in my bones, leaving my skin flayed and my bones cracking from the flames. Soon the fabric is all tossed and I reach for more only to find an empty closet. Fists pound on the granite counter on the center dressing table, a spike of pain resonates up through my arms and revives bruises from the night before. Tears fall helplessly down my face, and crash onto the cold stone, I heave in sobs through gapping lips, the weight of the situation bearing down on me. I’m trapped, utterly and completely trapped in this hellhole.

“Fuck!” I scream loudly, it echoes through the room. My hands are shaking violently, I clench them trying to regain a bit of control. Teeth bite down on my lip as I struggle to calm myself; I taste blood but feel not pain as the skin breaks from the stress. Digging themselves out of the tattered heap of cloth, my legs gracelessly climb up onto the icy dressing table and I huddle into the fetal postion. I let my soft body mold to the cold counter, not caring that the cold pricks at me uncomfortably. I find comfort in the uncomfortable.

My mind wanders, I think of stories I’ve read, or movies I’ve seen and of drama’s I’ve studied. I try and think what the heroine always does in this situation, the specific steps they take to get away from the bad guy. But the stories never had someone like him, someone who could be so cruel and ruthless, and switch himself to the affectionate and passionate lover that I’d known. The villain was always hopelessly flawed, but Moriarty just _isn’t._ He seems to have no loose ends, because he kills loose ends, no pain, no pity and no mercy. A strange memory floods back to me and I see his face happy, truly happy.

_It was just a normal night, like any other. My mind ambles around it lost and curious, watching his smile. It’s not the forced or feigned, genuine smirk that usually sets his features alight but a soft, content beam from somewhere deep down inside his soul. His hand reaches for mine across the table, he had cooked that night for our three-month anniversary, enclosing my small hand in his. I look at them; his fingers are so elegant and long, while mine pale in comparison as short and stumpy. I frown at my inability to live up to him; he has an innate beauty, which I just cannot see in my meager reflection._

_“I love you.” He says quietly. It’s a delicate sound, his voice is always sarcastic and a bit harsh, but this whisper was kind, heartfelt and it crawled into me, warming my soul. I felt the truth in the words, and I met his dark eyes with the same sweetness._

_“I love you too.”_

My mind snaps out of the memory, his devilish face from the past year burning through the image of him before.

“What can I do?” I ask the empty air, my voice sounds raspy from the screaming and my hand reaches up to my throat as a jerk reaction. I see two possible roads ahead of me.

  1. I tell him I love him and play a role for the rest of my life, or until he tires of me and kills me, a sweet release, I think.
  2. I keep resisting until he grows annoyed and angry enough to strike at me and kill me.



Neither sound very inviting, but I try to decide the easier path. I used to act in high school, I was the lead in all the school shows; at one point I even wanted to be a movie star. Maybe I could play it off, be the loving sweetling helongs for. My arms move to my stomach and hug themselves against me, it would be incredibly painful to allow him too…  and to act as if I love him in return. But maybe, just maybe, after some time it would become natural. It wouldn’t take as much effort to pretend, I could be numb, I know I could do it.

It is just so tiring being angry all the time and sad and frustrated. I don’t want to live like that, and maybe the more he trusts me, the more freedom he’ll give me and that could mean escape at one point or the other. If he caught me again I would be dead, or worse… but if there is a chance I must take it. Any hope for redemption is worth bearing the pain, and as much as I don’t want to admit it… Jim is confortable; I know how to act around him. He’s familiar. I pull my knees back up to my chest and wrap my arms around them as my tears fall in fear of my planned ploy. I see the future and it’s bleak, but at the end of the darkness… there is something.

I hum to calm myself a quiet tune from a lovely show that my parents used to play for me on the piano in out living room. _Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise…_


	11. False Fingers

My eyes open to the harsh light of the dressing room, I feel temporarily blinded in the whiteness. I sit up and look around at the mess I’ve made, the clothes still lie on the floor around me, torn and tossed away as if they’re trash.

“Hello, dear.” His silk voice washes over me; I take a moment to collect myself before answering. I remember what I had decided, what I had told myself I’d do. Fear prickles in my stomach; a part of me knows he’ll be able to see through my plight. I had never been a very good liar. But I know there is no other way, I have no other choice. In all honesty, I’m certain, that even if I am caught and he finds out my deception, that he would praise my intelligence and self-preservation. 

My body twists to meet his view; his obsidian eyes rest on mine as he strolls over to the side of the dressing table. I inch towards him carefully; his gaze follows my every movement as I slide across the cold granite.

“Where were you?” I ask in a shaky voice. He shifts uncomfortably, looking around, as if he’s ashamed of something.

“At work.” He says slowly, hiding the truth. I nod, taking the answer for what it is; I don’t really want to know what his work entails.

“Oh…” I’m still too far away for him to touch me and he makes no move to create contact.

“You’ve made quite a mess, darling.” His eyes scan over the destroyed room and he smiles softly, his harsh features relax and his hands press down on the edge of the table. He lets out a small breath, it seems like the reminisce of a laugh and his head dips down, eying his spread fingers on the icy stone. “I’m sorry.” He utters, barely audible.

“What?” I say softly, my skin prickling at the electricity in the room. His eyes meet mine and he breathes in deeply.

“I’m so sorry, Olive.” He huffs louder, sincerity in his tone that I’d only ever heard once before.

“That doesn’t change… what…” I’m lost for words. My mouth hangs open, I look at him, almost forgetting the act I agreed to play. The room is gone and I only see him and his sadness. But a part of me wonders if this is just another one of his acts.

“I know. I’m bloody mad and what I did wasn’t right.” He turns away from me and runs a rushed hand through his hair, leaving it messy and erratic. “The hardest part of all this shit is that I can’t just let you walk out that door.” I study the back of his head, trying to decipher what he’s thinking, which is always a hopeless ploy.

“Why…” I start to ask a question and think better of it. My knees pull up under my chin and I wait for him to turn back to me.

“Anger. And pain, I guess. When you looked at me and said that you were going to walk away from everything… I don’t know. Something in me snapped. I’ve always been slightly off, as if I’m on different wavelength from the rest of the world. All the ordinary people used to just annoy me.” Both of his hands fly into his already mussed locks, even from behind him I can tell he’s hurting. It doesn’t change anything I feel for him, I don’t think. “And then I met you… you were so beautifully ordinary. I saw you at the library that day and your face just had a pained concentration written on it as you read. It was the first time I had ever needed courage to go up to a woman.” His hands move to his sides and grip the edge of the counter, I stay frozen and listen closely, not quite sure if I’m hearing him correctly. “You smiled at me when I asked you for a date. Not in a sensual way, but an actual smile. As if I made you happy.

“I fell in love with you, Olive. And my whole life I’d never loved anyone, I didn’t believe I could love someone. People are so stupid and boring, you know. Always staying on the same path and never questioning anything.” His hand glides out in front of him as he motions how people are staying. “But after my first meal with you, I had planned to just sleep with you and be done with it, but…” He huffs a little laugh. “The way your eyes lit up at little things, and the way you spoke about anything with such vigor and passion. You were intelligent. You were ordinary to the eye, but so much underneath. And when you told me that you’d never slept with anyone before… I think that’s the moment I knew I wanted you… all of you, not only your body, but your mind, your beautiful mind.” He turns rapidly; his elbows lean on the counter as he catches my eyes. “I still want you.

“But I let that want… that need… drive me to do things to you, to us.” His breath hitches in his throat. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I still love you, I know that.” He smiles at me, sadness in his eyes and redness in his cheeks.

“Hm.” I sound quietly, thinking on his words. They sound sincere, but I still can’t bring myself to trust a thing he says… even if the tenderness of his voice washes over me like bath water, even if my fingers ache to reach for him, even if tears threaten to fall from my eyes… I just can’t do it with the ghost of his touch on my unwilling skin.

“Please…” He begs delicately. “Have me, all of me. I love you and I want you, and I know… _I know…_ That somewhere deep inside you… you still love me.” He reaches out but retreats, thinking better of it.

I watch him as his finger drum on the counter, awaiting my answer. I’m about to say that I could never love him that he’s a monster, but all that comes out is a soft whimper. I’m scared of him, of what he’ll turn into when his mood switches. He could be this loving man now, but in an hour his schizophrenia could turn him into a lustful beast once more.

I react in the only way I think anyone could after someone telling you how much they love you. My arms wrap around his waist and I burry my face in his chest, letting my mind wander back to before when this was a normal occurrence. I take in the smell of him hungrily; it’s comfortable and familiar. He’s hesitant at first, but after a moment of shock he embraces me tightly, nuzzling his face into my shoulder. His breath floats across my skin as I hear him sigh; we relax in each other’s arms.

My mind snaps back into itself as I feel his fingers draw circles on my back. I tense for a moment and force myself to sigh into his hold again. He’s lying to get what he wants; he’s an actor who twists a story for his target audience. I will not believe his play. I will not accept his apologies. I will not… but he must believe mine. He must believe my play, my drama. It’s a dangerous game to play, especially with Moriarty. It’s a game that could get me killed, and most likely will.

“You know why you can’t leave, right? You understand?” He whispers into my shoulder.

“In a way.” I say my voice shaking.

“You know to much, you know who I am and what I do. It’s a dangerous game this thing I do. And when people want to hurt me, the fools that try, will go after anyone they think I could possibly care about. You’ve been seen in public with me. They know… it’s just too big of a risk.” He stands up, leaving me kneeling at the edge of the counter. “I would be better off just killing you now, you know, darling.” His eyes darken as his runs a lazy finger down my jaw line and neck, ghosting over my collarbones. “A quick an easy death, instead of an ending in rape and torture.” His fingers close around my neck with just enough pressure to let me know the threat. “I love you and I want you to be with me, and I’ll wait as long as it takes you to be comfortable again.”

A strong hand grips my upper arm, but I barely notice the contact. I understand, though, he’s telling me I can either be with him willingly or die. I plan to die, one day, most likely by his hand. But if there is any hope I could escape from him… or kill him. The thought flickers through me again, setting a light in my inner soul. _I could kill him._ I look at him and picture him bloody, on the floor, myself standing above him. It leaves a sweet taste in my mouth.

I know if I ever want that chance I have to give him what he wants, and I have to give in. Every bone in my body screams against this, telling me no. Death would be easier, sweeter and I wouldn’t have to sell my soul to the devil to die. Maybe there was even a heaven I could go to. Green fields and wildflowers, and maybe my parents will be there… waiting for me. I sigh inwardly thinking of the satisfying quickness of death.

My soul leaps in my chest, damn my self-preservation. I can’t just let him kill me, god no, I’ll go down fighting when I choose to go down at all.

“So what will it be?” He tightens his hold a fraction of an inch, almost cutting off my airway. I reach up to his grip gently and place my hands over his, my fingers curl around him and I pull it away tenderly. My heart races in my chest, I swear I can hear it, meaning he can hear it as well. With feigned confidence I push his hand into my lap, and struggle with a small smile.

“You.” My voice is demure. I look down, worrying that he’ll see the lie in my eyes.

He leans his head into mine, our foreheads touch and I inhale in his sent, our breath mixes and he murmurs, “What was that, love?”

I exhale heavily as his members lift my chin so I must look at him. “You. I choose you.” My voice has strength in it that I can’t understand. A lie is simpler than the truth, which I know I would have choked out painfully.

He cuts off my train of thought with his hungry lips against mine. Need rushes through me and I wrap my legs around his waist.

“Wait, wait. Jim stop.” I say loudly, hindering his advances.

“What is it, darling?” His eyes question me harshly.

“I’m still recovering from last night, after diner?” I laugh as I dismount from his hips, push him back a little and standing in front of him. I have to life my chin up to look at his expression and wait for his response.

“I have a meeting in an hour with an old friend, but yes diner after that and then we…” He leans into me and presses his body against mine, his breath coasts across my right ear. “Well, I can take you like you’ve never been taken before.”

Shivers run down my spine as his fingers toy with the side of my panties, twisting them lightly. I moan with a wanton expression uncontrollably painted across my face.

“Unless you don’t want to wait.” He growls into my head, his lips finding my collarbone and biting down softly, sucking on the skin.

“I can.” I breathe out between a sigh, my skin crawling at my own reaction. 


	12. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive has a flashback... to a night before the horrors started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for sex.

I sit down in the chairs next to the dead fireplace; they’re more comfortable than they had seemed earlier. My mind wanders; I try and prepare myself for what is definitely going to happen tonight. Jim wants to sleep with me, but he wants me to want him. Which in his twisted mind… I just can’t comprehend. It’s a game, I tell myself. A twisted sick game.

But he is capable of being kind and gentle, I know that more than anyone. My fingers tie together on my lap as I think back on that night that seems so long ago, but in truth was less than a year past.

_“I got you something.” Jim said shyly as he sat down on my couch, toying with a wrapped package in his hand._

_“You didn’t need to get me anything.” I laughed, blush covering my cheeks noticeably._

_He giggled in his high, Irish register. “It’s not everyday someone turns twenty two.” Our hands met as he gave me the package covered in ladybug wrapping paper. I ripped it open and found a book, old and worn._

_“Poems of Edgar Allan Poe.” I smiled warmly at the thought._

_“I thought of you.” He looked down, still shy._

_“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.” My hand found his and I gave it a thankful squeeze._

_“Oh, I think those words are some of the most beautiful ever written.” His hand reached up and stroked the side of my face gently. Our lips met in an innocent sweep, my hips pushed into lap. I straddled his him comfortably and opened my mouth to allow his tongue inside. We explored each other, as we had done before, and I felt his hands brush over my back as he pulled me into the kiss, deepening it._

_Without a word he grabbed my hips and flipped me off him, he stood up and reached for my hands, pulling me up to him and dragging me to the bedroom. My heart was racing in my chest… I was a virgin. I had never done anything with a man. His lips captured mine again and he let his fingers rush through my hair, easing away any worry on my part._

_I pushed at his chest and he sat on the bed, I felt the need to take control of the situation and I did.  Gesturing for him to scoot back, I climbed after him, once again straddling him. The sight of Jim under me made me wanton for his touch, and he could sense that, I think. His nails dug into my back as I leaned into his kiss. Our lips and teeth battled and bit at each other, he tasted like mint, fresh and clean._

_After what seemed like and eternity, his strong hands roughly clasped onto my waist and flipped me underneath him. I had no time to protest before his biting was back at my swollen lips. I reached up and under his shirt, felt down his hard chest and slowly started to undo the buttons from the bottom up._

_He leaned down on one elbow and shrugged off his shirt, his fingers twittled with the cotton dress I wore. He gently unbuttoned the top and moved slowly down the entire length of the shirt-dress. I let it fall over my arms and I wiggled it off my body. Jim was the first man to see me completely; I soaked in his look as he gazed at my body._

_I just noticed the coldness of the room, I knew the icy air had already turned my nipples hard and I waited for him to make his next move. He leaned down and reached under my back, tickling my side childishly before diving his hand underneath me to my bra clasp. With a quick pinch he freed me of the retraining mechanism._

_I sighed lightly as his mouth gently found the tender spot between my collarbone and neck, I felt sucking and a bit of teeth as he marked me for the first time. Moans escaped my virgin lips, my hands reached up and around him, the nails bit into his muscular flesh. I was surprised at how toned he was, I would have never expected it from his light Irish build, but I groped at the firm flesh, eager to feel it against mine._

_His lips trailed down to the nape of my neck and I squirmed, trying to get him to move faster as his fingers danced with the sides of my underwear._

_“Is something the matter, dear?” He asked, huffing a laugh into my skin. I felt his hot breath run over the top of my breast and almost came undone at the ticklish sensation._

_“It’s just… you’re not moving fast enough.” I sighed out, exasperated by his teasing. He lifted his head slowly; I looked into his hungry eyes and something in him switched on… I don’t know how to describe it quite right. Only that his mood seemed to change, darken as if he was no longer the gentle lover, but a predator who ached to be pleased._

_I shuttered slightly as his fingers went down to my hips and gripped them tightly, roughly enough to leave me bruised. I moaned at he feverish touch as his thumbs drew small circles on my hidden hipbone, his lips descended ravenously down my chest and sucked at one of my perky nipples. I cried out at the feeling of his warm tongue tantalizing me. He smiled into my skin and flicked the other nub without hesitation._

_He was suddenly sitting up on my hips, and his arms propped up on either side of me. He laughed devilishly, pushing himself to the side and scooting down so his hands ran over my propped up legs._

_“Won’t you let me?” He asked toying with my shut knees._

_“Only if you ask nicely.” I said using it as my turn to tease. He pried open my legs and muscled his way in between them, his fingers hooked on my panties and dragged them down, lifting my legs in front of him for a moment as he swooped them off. My voice hitched as he spread my thighs apart crudely, a monstrous hunger washing over his face. With quick and agile movements he stood on the bed and undid his trousers. I reached over to my nightstand and opened the drawer in a rushed frenzy, my hand fumbled to pull the drawer out, after a moment of mini panic I got it and reached in. My hand fumbled for the small package and I pulled out a condom._

_He took it happily from my hand and pulled down his briefs. I laid back down and stared up at my ceiling._

_“Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice asked tentatively. He knew I was a virgin, that it would hurt, and I felt his concern wash over me like soft tropical waves._

_“I want you.” I said quietly, still looking up._

_I hear a low, throaty laugh. “Good, because darling… I’ve known I’d be the one to take you as soon as the words virgin left your lips.” And with a muted grunt he sheathed himself inside me. I bit my lip and turned my head to the side as the pain ripped through my body, it wasn’t a horrible pain, but it was incredibly uncomfortable. His breath was coating my neck as he propped himself up to put less weight on me and his fingers found my hip. His face was twisted in pleasure as he took me. All the tightness and purity eroded away as his lips crashed into mine._

_I moaned out as the pain dulled and I felt him fill me, he was gently pushing in and pulling out. Written on his face was a wanton need that I knew he longed to satisfy._

_“Move.” I purred in a low growl. His eyes snapped open and he smirked, his full length pushing into me further than the last thrust, his pace quickened and I felt my insides stretch as I took him. One hand knotted in my hair as the other worked it’s way between my legs to put pressure on my swollen nub._

_The feeling was exhilarating; I had never known a sensation like that before. Whiteness filled my vision as hey teased my clit, I squealed and yelped at his flicking and circling. Immense pleasure rushed through my limbs and I cried out for release, to tell him to move faster, to scream more… but all that escaped my lips was a brash moan. His fingers played with me and I whimpered into his skin as my nails raked down his back._

_He hissed in satisfaction as I dug into him, his mouth infecting my shoulder with its plague of ravish need. He bit down aggressively, sucking as he pounding in and out faster and harder. My legs swung up around his hips and pushed him past the pain and deeper than I thought possible._

_“James.”_

_My screams echoed in the room as I came hard around him, feeling every spasm and twist as my toes curled and my insides were set aflame._

_“Olive…” He panted into my mouth as he kissed me deeply and came inside me after my bought of pleasure pushed him over._

_He slid out smoothly and pushed the sheets down tenderly. I snuggled against his chest and felt him wrap his arms around me._

_“I’d never done that before.” He said still out of breath._

_“Liar.” I laughed softly._

_A warm hoot filled the room. “No, I mean taken a girls…” He trailed off and the room was quiet._

_“I’m glad it was you.”_

If I regret anything…

It’s saying those words.


	13. Dinner Date

I had drifted off to an empty sleep; I’m not rested or tired, just blank. I feel blank and empty… like my soul had really been sold. My feet rest on the arm of the chair, stiff from not moving… it’s dark outside, so that means I’ve been asleep for a few hours in this uncomfortable position.

My bones ache as I twist out of my curled legs and arms, leaving me wobbling on my unsteady feet. The room is quiet, it’s too still… I go to open the balcony door and find it locked under my grip and my face spirals into frustration.

“Dinner is ready.” Moran’s cold voice says from the doorway. I rapidly turn to face him, he leans against the door frame, a smirk painted on him thin lips.

“Dinner?” I ask, an unsure breath leaving my parted lips.

He laughs and takes two strides to close the space between us. “Yes, Ol. Dinner.” I feel his hand wrap around mine, my heart unwillingly clenches at his use of my childhood nickname. I’m trudging along behind him, stumbling to keep up with his quick and sure steps. For the first time I notice how incredibly tall he is, especially compared to Jim.

Moran’s hair is a soft yellow, very light and airy, I watch the slight curls, cut down to short to have much bounce, move slightly as he jaunts across the floor and into a long hallway. His skin is tan, but I can see the fairness underneath the harsh brown the sun had left, he dresses simply, with a button down and black pants, I watch his dark fingers curl around mine possessively. I used to hate this emotionless man, this figure in the dark who had seen all of me and tracked me for almost a year.

“So, Ol, how do you like it here?” He asks not looking back at me.

“Is that a trick question?” My sass is hard to hide as I find an inner confidence in his easy company.

“No, god no. I want to know how you like it here. It’s a nice enough house and I’m sure you can have anything you want. But Jim can be difficult.” He laughs, still pulling me forward and past a living room.

“If I’m going to be honest with you…” I start before thinking better of honesty. “I do, Jim is the love of my life.” The words taste like poison on my tongue.

He pushes open a door and pulls me in to the room, staying at the doorframe. I feel his lips at my ear as I pass him. “Liar.” And then he’s gone.

The kitchen is modern and neat. Dark counters compliment clean, white cabinets, and giant industrial appliances show the wealth of the owner. I can imagine the finest meals in the world being prepared in this room, all caviar and lobster. The air is chilly on my bare legs, my hands awkwardly pull at the dress shirt still draped around my frame. I feel underdressed in the fancy, cold room.

Two places are set at the center island, I stare at them ominously, not wanting to be here. My instincts are telling me to run and hide from this nightmarish world. A part of me almost turns for the door when I hear it open again and soft footfalls fill the hollow air.

“Evening, darling.” Jim’s voice lingers on my neck as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind. He leans down and kisses the spot just below my ear gently before releasing me from his hold.

I follow him to the place settings, putting a forced smile on my face. I feel the fear in my eyes and try to focus relaxation into them. “This seems nice.” I say quietly as he pulls the chair out for me to sit.

“It’s a simple meal. But I know you’ll like it.” He leans in to quickly kiss me on the cheek as he settles in his chair. I almost smile at the gesture, but stop myself from giving into his play.

A silent man brings in two plates and sets them down in front of us. I gasp as my breath catches in my throat.

I’ve seen this meal before.

Bowtie pasta and vodka sauce covers the plate. The same meal he had made for me all those months ago when he’d first told me he loved me. I don’t know how to react; my hands start shaking so violently that I shove them under the counter to keep his ever-prying eyes from seeing them. Bile rises in my throat. I can’t read what he wants me to do, should I laugh as kiss him gingerly saying how thoughtful and meaningful it is? Or does he want me to squirm at the familiarity, and reveal my true intentions? Because if I show my disgust at the memory of our first ‘I love you’ he will know instantly that I’m playing him just as much as he’s playing me.

“Oh, Jim.” I decide to start quietly. “You… you remembered.” There, not too sappy or fearful. Just simple and now I could see where he wanted to take it.

“Yes, yes, dear. Of course I remembered.” He smiles at me, a kindness I don’t understand. But he keeps looking at me expectantly, as if he wants me to say something else.

I oblige. “It’s very sweet of you.” My voice shakes, I can’t do this. I can’t, I know I can’t, oh shit. What the hell did I get myself into? He’s cheating, taking things from the past and forcing me to associate them with him now. The real Jim, the Moriarty who isn’t kind or loving. He’s just clever and sadistic. Bitterness flows through my veins as I stare at the simple dish.

“Isn’t it?” He giggles and reaches for my hand. I check my reaction to pull it away before he can grasp it firmly. My eyes follow him cautiously as he stands up and strolls over to me. I feel a sudden jerk of the chair as he pulls it out and squeezes in between the counter and me. I stay perfectly still as he slithers his arm around my waist and pulls me into a deep kiss.

His tongue slips over my bottom lip, asking for access for the first time. I sigh slightly and he takes the invitation to explore my mouth with his own. I let myself become lost in the intensity of the kiss, his hands grip my sides roughly as he giggles in my mouth. I can’t help but laugh with him, at the ridiculousness of it all. I hate him, but I crave him and he plays with me for his own pleasure, but he still loves me. The problem with the kiss is… no matter how much he fancies himself in love with me, I know he can’t change. His sociopathic nature keeps him from feeling too much and I recognize the hungry need in his lips.

My hands start to shake as I wrap them around his neck, pulling myself deeper into the already severe battle of teeth and flesh, trying to loose my thoughts in the movement of his tongue. But my ever conscious pessimism stops me from enjoying the contact, no matter how wrong it is, I crave the attention of someone’s touch. And his just happen to be the only available. Jim’s arms pull me to him and I slide off the chair until I completely press against his body. My limbs blindly follow him as he leads me to the kitchen door, he holds it open like a gentleman, breaking the kiss and taking a deep breath.

“Do you consent?” He asks eyeing me with doubt.

_No._ I think taking his hand, and using all my focus to keep it from trembling. “Yes.” My whisper echoes through the dimly lit hall.

His hand pulls mine down the hall quickly; he’s giddy like a child as he skips down to the bedroom. I watch in disgusted awe as he bellows through the doors and into the long room. Somehow they close behind me and he’s tugging at my thin covering.

“Just like old times.” He coos in my ear, his hot breath coating my prickling flesh and raising goose bumps all over my neck. I’m practically whoring myself to him. But if it’s to keep myself alive then it’s okay, right? It’s all for the sake of survival and it’s hope.

Plus if I’m deranged enough to play this part then I can surely let myself go… I can enjoy it. He’s good at it; he’s very, very good. If anyone would know it would be me. But is it wrong to find pleasure in a man who is so evil? Does it make me just as bad as him? I know I’m not perfect, but I like to think I’m a good person… someone who knows right from wrong.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jim’s dark voice whispers against my chin, dragging me out of my thoughts.

“What? Yes. I’m fine.” I say quickly, capturing his lips with my own again. My

mouth is urgent against his, I don’t want to face his inquires and his questions, I might break if he pushes me too far.

I close my eyes and try to loose myself in the kiss; I try to bring myself back to times when I ached for his touch and his lips against mine. But I was only able to sway myself there for a moment before he pulls away.

“Olive. What is wrong?” He asks in my ear, concern sounding foreign in his breath.

“Nothing, Jim.” I say breathless. He pulls his head back and looks at me, studying my expression, I watch silently as his eyes trail my features and my body cries to let out it’s true thoughts. My lips ache to scream, my nose wishes to flare, my eyes burn with tears that I refuse to let fall.

I feel his hand wrap around mine and he pulls me to the soft sheets of the bed; I sit on the side and stare at the wallpaper across the room. I feel the bed dip as he sits next to me and rests his hand on mine.

“I thought you were happy here.” He whispers in the dead air.

“I am.”

“Liar.” He retorts hitting me with his elbow. “I told you I love you. I wanted you to say it back. It’s what I wanted.” I didn’t look at him, but I can tell his brow is furrowing as his complex mind tries to figure me out. “You’re smart, that’s one of the reasons I like you. You knew I wanted you to say it back. But in all honesty, my dear, do you really want to be with me?”

My heart is racing, I knew this was a stupid plot, I’m just a stupid girl to think I could outwit the criminal mastermind of the century. I’m caught, I’m done and I just want to weep and heave until he slits my white throat and I can be done with this world.

“I’ve been caged, Jim. And if you know me half as well as you claim to… you’ll know I can’t live in a cage.” It’s the best I could do. 


	14. Learn To Be Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. This is very BDSM. Violent and rape happens. It's not good for Olive at all.

His face twists into a confused look. I watch him warily, a primal instinct told me to be ready to fight if I had too.

My preparations and thoughts are interrupted by his laughter.

“Olive, my love. My beauty! My heaven! Oh, you shall no longer be caged! I swear by it, tomorrow you are free to leave the apartment.” My heart swells, this is too good to be true. There must be some catch. “As long as Moran is with you at all times.” Ah, there it is.

“You trust me to do that?” Oh, shit why did I say that?

“I trust you with anything, my love.” He kisses my forehead, this was not the reaction I was expecting from him. But it almost seems that Jim is blinded by his so-called love for me. I feel his arms twine around my waist and he pulls me into him, roughly but with a gusto that I had never known before in his presence.

I fall next to him unto my back. As much as I don’t want to let him take me, I can’t help but feel the ache for him, for his touch and his body. He was a man who knew how to use it well.

“Olive, darling. How would you like to do this?” He asks propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. He was asking me what I wanted to do? I couldn’t stop my brow from furrowing in confusion. I am the prisoner, the slave, the whore. He is supposed to make the decisions.

“Um, I…” I don’t know what to say.

“I want this to be special for you, our first time together in this new life.” His smile spreads across his face. “Come on! I know you have some favorite’s.” I stare, not able to move. Choosing what we will do would be me actually choosing my own rape. I see this as such, considering I can’t say no to him without fear of death. So I say silent, he’ll get bored and just do it the way he wants.

“I don’t know, Jim.” I say quietly, turning my head into the silk sheets, away from him.

“Fine, I’ll choose then. And there are some things I’ve been _dying_ to try with you, darling.”

My eyes follow him as he walks to a dresser and pulls out something I can’t see. He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside, leaving his toned back bare to my eyes.

“Let have some fun.” I watch him turn, he’s holding a riding crop in his hand and some ties in the other. My heart lurches and I muffle a small scream into my hand. Of course this would be my punishment for not playing along with his sick game. He is going to break me.

“Lean back on the bed and put your hands up.” He orders coldly.

“Uh, Jim. I’m not really into this. I… uh…” I scramble up and stand on the other side of the bed.

“Come on, darling. Do as you’re told.” He rushes towards me and I back up into the glass, it feels cool and prickly on my backside. Jim’s hands roughly grab me by the waist and toss me onto the bed. I try to sit up again but he’s already straddling me and tying my hands to the headboard. I pull at the tight bindings to no avail as he ties my feet apart as well.

“Jim, please… don’t. I don’t want to…” He shushes me with a finger on my lips.

“Don’t make me gag you.” Is his only response to my plea.

He sits up from my mouth and rips the shirt open, exposing my bra and underwear. I feel him rip it away so I’m tied up in my undergarments that feel too fancy and sexual in such a forced situation. Jim pulls out a pocketknife and presses it against the top of my right breast, pushing just hard enough so I can feel the sharpness, but it doesn’t cut me. He lifts it and cuts my bra straps and the sides of my underwear, his other hand reaching behind me to unclasp the bra. They’re discarded of on the floor. I’m bare under him.

He gets off me and retrieves the riding crop from where it had fallen. I bite my lip as he walks towards me, his movements lethal as a cat. Jim positions himself back on my hips, his weight digging me into the mattress. His eyes probe my nakedness and I hold my breath as he smashes the crop down on my right breast. I bite back the scream that longs to be pushed from my throat. But he follows it with another hit on my left breast, leaving red welts in their wake.

“Jim, please stop. It hurts.” He strikes me across the face. I cry at the pain, I feel my lip split open and my cheek swelling in the wake of the hit.

He keeps beating my breasts, covering me in red marks, until he whacks my nipples and I scream out. It hurts so much more than I ever thought it would. He brings the crop down again and I screech at the biting agony ripping through my chest.

He moves on from my chest and works the crop down my body. Leaving a trail of welts dark enough to look like brick, I watch him undo his pants and he stands momentarily to take them off.

I hadn’t been aroused from the torture as much as he had. I see him standing on edge, and my stomach clenches as he positions himself at my opening. I’m dry as a stone as he pushes in roughly. Screams rip from my throat at the tearing pain. I sob out, it hurts more than I could ever imagine.

“AH! JIM PLEASE, STOP, PLEASE!” I shriek out through my tears. Oddly enough he complies and removes himself. I gasp, a small trickle of blood trailing from where I bit into my bottom lip. He unties me and moves on top of me again.

“That was rude.” He says, his face cold.

“I… I wasn’t ready…I…” His hand shuts over my mouth, effectively cutting me off.

“You will only speak to say, yes Jim or no Jim. Understand?”

He removes his hand to let me speak. “But you were hurting me…” I’m cut off by a smack across the face.

“Understand?”

“Yes, Jim.” I whimper. 


	15. A Light in the Dark

Sunlight burns through my closed eyes, turning my world red as I regain consciousness. My body aches, burns and pain radiates through each limb with every move, my arms feel as if they’d been broken, my ribs cracked, my legs splintered into a million pieces. I dare to look to my side and see an empty bed.

Jim is gone. The windows let bright sunlight shine though, and I can see onto the flowering balcony. The outside world seems so brilliant, so joyful, and so far out of reach. I unconsciously reach for the cold glass that keeps me locked in the horror of this room. Sweat damp covers stick to my skin, and I feel my hair matted on the pillow. I’m alone in the large bedroom again; I flip the covers off and look down at my scared body. Whipping marks mare the pale flesh of my breasts, small precise welts of red on each in multiple spots, stomach and thighs. My wrists are bruised, but at least the rope is gone, I rub in an attempt to get the pain to subside somewhat.

The window calls me to it, my feet tremble as I set them on the floor and take two steps towards the glass wall. My hand lies flat on the icy surface, keeping me suffocating in the air that smells of sex, mint and hate. I ache for the smoggy London air, the chilly oxygen that would still my senses and release my terrorized mind.

“Breakfast?” Sebastian’s voice echoes through the room, sounding natural in the stillness. I look up with a startled expression, I feel like a deer on the side of the road as if he’s the car coming to smash my body to nothing but a heap for nature to retake. But his face is undemanding, well, only somewhat considering it’s Moran.

“Please.” I say cautiously.

He sets down the tray in between the two chairs where we had our first conversation. Could that really have only been a day ago? I shake my head and stand awkwardly, he had already seen everything so my modesty was left unchecked. I stay fixed on the window briefly before looking at him, his eyes didn’t leave mine and he smiled, allowing a small chuckle to escape from his hard lips before sauntering over to a amore and pulling a robe from it’s depths.

“Here.” I watch as his eyes trail down my battered body. I see how his lips turn down further as he counts each bruise and welt that patterns my skin I take it from his hands, offering him a thankful smile, before wrapping my self in the silky fabric. I sit next to him and settle into the chair before picking at the fresh fruit on the tray. He pours me a cup of tea and one for himself without saying anything. The silence is comforting, in anyway it can be. It sooths my rushing thoughts, and calms my shaking hands.

 I watch him take his first sip and he winces a little at the heat. It’s funny how a man who can take a beating and give one right back would wince at a little hot water. I smile into my cup, the smell of earl grey seeping up and filling my tired senses. But my hands still slightly shake and I set the cup down as quickly as I can without spilling it, due to my irrational fear that I might let the whole cup of hot liquid pour down unto me and burn me just to feel something of my own accord. The atmosphere in the room is tense, I feel that I could reach out and snap it, there’s something on his mind that he can’t say, or doesn’t want to say. Maybe he wasn’t okay with what Jim did last night, maybe he’s angry with his boss for being so utterly cruel. I stare forward and try to think through the night before. Jim had broken his word in a way, he took me and it was the most painful experience of my life. He tied me up and beat me without my permission or consent. Weren’t people who do that stuff supposed to be safe about it? A safe word? They were only supposed to go as far as their partner could manage. He didn’t care, it hit me, he didn’t care about my pleasure or safety or well-being. I wanted to cry and scream at myself for letting it happen, I didn’t fight like I should have. I was weak and docile and everything I had promised myself I wouldn’t be. What was wrong with me? With my mind and body? Did I secretly want it from him? No I don’t think I did, or do, ever again.

I feel a single tear slid down my cheek as I picture him above me, ridding crop in hand and that cold look in his eye. _Push it down_. I tell myself. _It’s the only way to survive_.

Rough fingers brush at my cheek, catching the tear and pulling away quickly as I turn my head to look at him. My eyes are wide and I feel confusion wash over my face.

Sebastian shrugs and goes back to sipping his tea.

“Why are you here?” I ask with a little too much bite in my voice, but I’m beyond caring. He raises his eyebrow at me and sets his tea down.

“I’m bringing you breakfast.” He answers easily.

“Not a good enough answer.” I don’t take my gaze off him, I eyes are hard and judging.

“I… I’m here to make sure… er…”

“You’re my jailer.” I turn away from him and go to stand before I feel his calloused hand on my arm, asking me to stay.

“Never will I be that, Olive.” I jump at the use of my name. My legs curl under me as I sit back down. “I want you to know that… that.” He looks away frustrated, as if he can’t say what he wants to say.

“Jim said I could go shopping today.” I say quickly. I don’t want some confession from him, I don’t want anything from him. Not now, not in this pitiful state.

“What?” He looks over at me, confusion written in his sharp features.

“Shopping. With you, to like, ya know protect me from evil.” I whisper the last word. He notices and looks down, realizing my meaning. That the only person I needed protection from was Jim. He was the evil.

“That sounds…” He starts, leaning over to set his teacup down on the small table between us, and before I could make a stronger argument his hand is covering mine. I stare down at the contact; it feels foreign on the skin that has so belonged to Jim these past few years. But I can’t help the light smile that crosses my bruised face, the slight upturn of my lips at the warmth in his rough hand. A gesture so little, so unimportant, that it might as well be the most intimate moment I’ve experienced in months. “Lovely.”

“Really?” I say tenderly, my eyes still locked on the contact. I expect him to move his hand away, to pull back from my gaze, I can feel the intensity of it. It’s like a pull on his skin, I want more of it, I want him, everywhere, around me. The sense of serenity that radiates from his touch seems to leach some of my sanity back to me, I feel the floor become steadier and my mind become clearer.

He leans closer to me. “Of course, Olive.” And randomly he places a kiss on my forehead. But leans back with a socked expression on his face, as if he can’t believe what he just did, as if his body acting without his permission. I rise my eyes to him, he’s standing, strait back with his hands in fists at his side. Seb’s mouth hang’s slightly open, and his eyes are wide. Staring at me, studying, and, no doubt, trying to decipher what caused him to do such a thing.

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” I say, startlingly loud, to break him from his confused trance.

“Yes, uh. Of course.” And with that he walked out briskly, leaving me to an empty room and horrid memories crashing at that closed door in my failing mind. 


End file.
